


nowhere to run to, nothing to hold onto

by skyparents



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5 Things, And I don't know how I feel about it, But here it is, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Gen, MCUFC, May is sad, Miscarriage, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sort Of, This is really disjointed, Why does she have to lose everyone?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 23:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyparents/pseuds/skyparents
Summary: when she opens the door, she already knows. or guesses. or has a gut feeling she can't ignore, like she's already feeling that hollow space grow and envelope a little more of her. she thinks maybe her legs give out. for one wild and heart-stopping moment, she wonders if she is starting to disappear, too. but no, it’s just the way her world crumbles in upon itself when she’s the only one left in it.or, four things that may parker loses, and one thing that she gets back. // my contribution for mcufc prompt #001: "there was an emptiness where [her] soul used to be."





	nowhere to run to, nothing to hold onto

**Author's Note:**

> Post Infinity War, focusing on May Parker. Considering that I have not actually seen Infinity War yet, and completely ignoring the snippet of Tony Stark we actually got out of the Endgame trailer. Because I said so.
> 
> This is my first MCU-based writing I've published anywhere, and I feel like it's ...not good? It feels a little too disjointed and choppy, but I've been sitting on it for a week and good changes aren't happening, so I figured I'd just call it a day. I hope it's okay!
> 
> Slight TW: Miscarriage. It only appears in the first section, and does not go into detail – it's about the aftermath, not the event itself.

> **i.**

There is something about this – about her body stifling the life swelling within it – that begins to carve a hollow spot in her soul. She doesn’t understand it. How can the hurt feel so real, when she doesn’t even know who she’s lost? There is no name to dwell on, no face to see when she closes her eyes. What void can possibly be left behind when she loses someone who never even took a breath?

And, sickeningly, she feels almost a little bit _relieved._ It makes her think she is a bad person, and so she keeps it to herself. Maybe this is _why._ Maybe a baby can tell when it isn’t wanted.

This brings on a deafening wave of guilt every time she looks at Ben. He couldn’t stop smiling when they found out there was going to be a baby, picked her up and spun her around and only set her down again when she was dizzy enough to need to hold onto him. He has this contagious sort of smile that reaches up to his eyes and makes soft dimples in his cheeks and simply lights something up inside her. She hasn’t seen that smile since the hospital. Now there’s this crushing, heavy sadness in his eyes that she doesn’t know how to fix, and she can’t help but feel responsible for it, because she _wished_ it.

But maybe this is for the best. If there’s anything that her parents taught her, it’s that children only complicate things. She clings onto this like it will keep her afloat, and tucks herself into Ben’s side and tries to pretend that there’s no hollow spot lurking in either of them.

> **ii.**

Peter holds her hand at the funeral, and it makes something twist painfully somewhere close to her heart. The hollow space grows, and she can feel it like a blackness soaking up a part of herself. He is so small to suffer so much loss. Maybe her own relationship with her parents was always difficult, but at least they were there. Peter’s parents are never going to be there again. Every milestone he reaches, from this point forward, they are still going to be six feet under. Always.

It’s not difficult to agree to take the boy. There is nowhere else for him to go, and it’s what Richard and Mary wanted, and it makes _sense._ Only she doesn’t know how to look after a child, not really. She barely knows what being a child is supposed to be like. There’s a paralyzing fear settling deep in her bones as they set up new Ikea furniture in the guest room. That she will mess this up. Or maybe that her parents were right, and children tear marriages apart, and that this will be the beginning of the end.

> **iii.**

The apartment is filled with flowers, and they are all slowly dying. There is too much death. She ran out of vases and didn’t have the energy to go to the store to find more, and she’s tried to compensate by splitting up bouquets into the tallest glasses she can find in the kitchen. The effect is a staggering amount of flowers with petals dropping off and curling in on themselves on tabletops. She wishes people would stop bringing them. Everyone she knows seems to have taken it upon themselves to stop by too many times with flowers and a casserole, so the fridge is packed and she can’t bring herself to eat any of it.

She doesn’t know how to talk to Peter about this loss, and she doesn’t think he knows how to talk to her about it, either. He shouldn’t have to. He’s the kid, and she’s the adult. She’s supposed to take care of him, fill in all the silence and the gaps left by Ben’s absence. Instead, she’s missing a couple weeks straight of work and staring at the ceiling and trying desperately to build up the energy to shower or eat food or get out of bed.

The thing about the losses before is that Ben tried to fill up the hollows left behind. What is she supposed to do when he’s the one who’s gone?

She gives herself those two weeks, and then she forces herself out into the living room, where she methodically cleans up every fallen flower petal and reduces the flowers to the four vases she actually owns. She reorganizes the fridge and washes the dishes and showers, and when Peter comes home from school, it’s to a far different apartment than he left in the morning. And a far different May, too.

It takes her too long to say it, but she ruffles his hair and smiles a sad little smile and doesn’t break eye contact when she does. “It’s just you and me now, kid. I’ve got you.”

> **iv.**

When she opens the door, she already knows. Or guesses. Or has a gut feeling she can’t ignore, like she’s already feeling that hollow space grow and envelope a little more of her. She’s been watching the news, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, in the aftermath of all the disappearances. Waiting for the phone to ring, for the screen to light up, but it doesn’t. There’s nobody left to call her.

It still hurts, though. A sting, a burn that takes the breath right out of her lungs when she opens the door and it’s just Tony, standing there in the hallway of her apartment building, all alone. He doesn’t have to say a word. She knows.

But she asks, anyway. “Peter?” That’s all she can get out. It sounds a little broken, the way it tears out of her in a near-whisper. She doesn’t need to wait for an answer. If Peter was okay, Tony would have brought him back to her, like he promised he would. The hollowness in his eyes as he takes a breath is enough of a confirmation.

She thinks maybe her legs give out. For one wild and heart-stopping moment, she wonders if she is starting to disappear, too. She might as well. Maybe the hollow has just grown big enough that it’s swallowing her up. But no, it’s just the way her world crumbles in upon itself when she’s the only one left in it.

> **v.**

The lost people do not come back. That’s the rule. That’s how it works.

Except one.

She falters for a moment when she sees him, breath catching until her brain catches up and then she’s moving. Fast, so everything around her blurs a little, because if this is a dream and she wakes up before she reaches him, she’s going to lose it. _“Peter,”_ as she practically flies at him, and he stumbles a little as she makes contact and then catches his balance so they both at least remain upright, hugging her back so tightly that all that hollow space feels like it gets _smaller._ She didn’t know it could do that.


End file.
